


An urge to perform...

by aljohnson



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: 2x01 episode reference, AU, Established Relationship, F/M, Smut, Wool, fan dance, weird settlers of catan cross-over reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 04:05:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5651845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aljohnson/pseuds/aljohnson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 'Murder Most Scandalous', Phryne went undercover at The Imperial Gentleman's club, and gave Jack the greatest 45 seconds of the last decade of his life!</p><p>I've always thought that an encore performance must surely be on the cards...</p><p>(Set sometime post Season 2 - and maybe the events of Season 3 just didn't happen?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	An urge to perform...

 

Phryne opened the letter. She recognised Jack’s appalling hand-writing on the envelope, and had wondered why he had slipped the letter into her handbag at the crime scene, rather than just speaking with her.

_“Phryne,_

_I have something I wish to show you._

_Please call at my house this evening, if convenient._

_Yours, Jack._

_xx”_

How very mysterious of him! She did like discovering different aspects of the mystery that was Jack Robinson. And he had been assertive but polite, demanding but offering an out, if, for whatever reason, it was not convenient.

Luckily, for both her and, she suspected, Jack, it was convenient. Which was how she came to find herself, at 7 o’clock that evening, ringing the bell of Jack’s adorably bijou bungalow in Albert Park, shuffling nervously from foot to foot. Since they had, very discretely, moved their relationship on some months earlier, Phryne had discovered that Jack was very playful and passionate beneath his dour exterior.

Such hidden depths had been hinted at, of course, during their developing friendship, but it had still been a revelation to see how mischievous and, well, free he was once his clothes came off. At this point, experience taught Phryne that a proposal to spend time at Jack’s house, where he lived entirely alone, promised a deliciously enjoyable treat. She wondered what he had in mind for tonight?

As the door swung open Phryne peered into the darkness.

“Miss Fisher.” Jack’s voice, but not the man himself, emerged from the gloom.

“Jack?” Phryne asked, redundantly. The timbre of his voice was always unmistakable.

An arm emerged, pulling Phryne into the house. It was wearing a dressing gown, and there was the hint of sweat, Phryne noted. Had he started without her? How naughty! The door swung shut behind her.

Pushing her up against the back of the door, Jack pressed his body against Phryne’s, kissing her deeply. Their tongues danced wildly, Phryne drinking him in as a drowning woman drinking water. It was only two days since they had last been together, after which he had sneaked down her back stairs as she had diverted Dot and Mr B in the parlour. How was he still able to drive her into this much of a frenzy?

Jack broke the kiss first. Whilst he would never want to leave Phryne wanting, he had learnt, very quickly, that prolonging the experience led her to a far greater climax. If he really excelled himself she made a noise that was akin to purring afterwards. He loved it, almost as much as he loved her, although he had not spoken those words to her. He was fairly sure she knew, in any event.

Smiling, he pushed himself away from her, taking her by the hand and leading her towards his armchair. The fire was lit in the grate, and the chair had been covered with a soft woollen blanket, several cushions arranged so as to afford maximum comfort.

Phryne unbuttoned her coat, which Jack took from her, sliding his hands along her arms as he did. She shivered involuntarily as she sat in the armchair. It was not even that cold this evening. What did Jack have in mind that required a warm room?

“Would you care to remove your hat and shoes?”

She didn’t really know how he did that; imbued such mundane sentences with such, suggestiveness? Carefully, she plucked the hatpin free, securing it back in the brim before offering it to Jack. He moved away, placing it on the peg near the door which had, at some point, come to be regarded by both of them as ‘hers’. Phryne loosened the straps of her heels and worked them off. She wiggled her toes before folding her feet under her.

Phryne turned her attention towards the room. The sofa had been pushed back against the far wall; the coffee table appeared to have been removed entirely. The gramophone player was obviously ready to be used. Perhaps there was going to be dancing? But he’d be wearing at the very least a suit for that, possibly evening dress, depending on where he was trying to recreate or the atmosphere he was trying to conjure.

Two weeks ago he had made a very good stab at transforming his study-come-library into an approximation of the Casino at Monte Carlo. Initially Phyrne had been nonplussed by the suggestion of card games that was inherent in the green baize covered card table and deck of cards, freshly unwrapped and positioned precisely in the centre of the table top. And then, when she had questioned the absence of chips, and Jack had done that half-apologetic smile that made him look so adorably handsome, and he had explained that, ‘unfortunately Miss Fisher, I seem to be entirely out of relevant tokens. But I have a suggestion for a suitable alternative’, and had run his fingers down the line of her dress, she had suddenly realised quite why he was wearing a formal three piece suit in his own house. As they had traded losing hands, and shed each other’s requested layers, Phryne had come to the conclusion that although she might find card games a bore, she found this tantalising stripping of Jack’s clothes, and his of hers, to be absolutely delightful. He’d left her earrings for last, and then carefully slipped the metal hooks free from her ears, kissing the lobes as he did.  And if she had perhaps thrown the odd hand? Well, who was to know? Really, the entire affair had been a win-win situation.

So what was this evening then? His house; so potentially risqué? It occurred to Phryne to consider what Jack might be wearing under his dressing gown.

“Would you care for some champagne?” Jack offered a glass, already filled.

“French champagne? My, my Jack, where did you obtain this from?”

“I have my sources.”

Phryne raised her eyebrows in mock disbelief.

“And I’m not saying any more. Now, are you sitting comfortably?”

“I am. What am I sitting for? A painting perhaps?”

“Well, something visual at least.” Jack replied. “I’ll just, erm…” he indicated behind him, where a screen was set up across one wall, next to the gramophone player.

Phryne settled herself back in the chair as Jack disappeared behind the screen. Taking a deep breath he slipped his robe from his shoulders, placing it on the stool he’d hidden in the corner. The screen had been carefully arranged so that he could set the gramophone in motion from behind it. Reaching for his scarf he tied it snuggly around his midriff, leaving the ends dangling in a bid to maintain some modesty. He fixed his bowtie around his neck. Casting a glance downwards he quickly bounced from foot to foot in a half-hearted bid to reinvigorate his muscles; he’d gone through a full warm-up before Phryne arrived.

Phryne saw his hand and forearm emerge from the far end of the screen to fiddle with the gramophone. Ooh, maybe he was going to sing? The music kicked in, a jolly, up-tempo but jazzy rendition of ‘Let’s Misbehave’. Jack peeped his head out from behind the screen, followed by a large, pink, feathered fan.

In the chair, Phryne’s jaw dropped and she suddenly sat forwards, placing her glass of champagne on the floor beside the chair. When had he managed to pilfer the fans? It occurred to her now that she had heard the faint sounds of him searching in her wardrobe a few weeks ago early one morning. It had been so early that she had barely been able to find the ability to ask him to be quiet, let alone to consider asking him what he was doing.

‘Confidence’, that was his watchword. He swept into the open area of his lounge, holding the fans coquettishly in front of his body. He swung them around, managing to rotate them around his body as he turned around in a full circle. He wafted the fans, giving Phryne the merest glimpse of what lay beneath.

What was he wearing? He had moved too quickly for her to be able to tell. There was a hint of thigh! Now the gloriousness that was his shoulder blades. And the fans moved up then, allowing a glimpse of the whole of his legs, including those incredibly toned calves. Phryne had to try very hard not to drool. She could feel her arousal building. Was this what it had been like for him, she wondered, that night at the Imperial? She had seen him in the audience as soon as she had emerged onto the stage, as her eyes had quickly scanned the room for any possible clues or evidence in their case.

He’d decided, ahead of tonight that lowering himself to the floor was not going to happen. He didn’t want to repeat her choreography entirely; to allow her to realise that he had every second of her performance seared into his mind as if it had been committed to celluloid and he’d been able to review it frequently. So he had used her moves as a suggestion; inspiration even.

As the music built to the chorus, Jack turned his back to Phryne and struck a pose. Stretching his left leg out to the side he pointed his foot, rather as he had seen in pictures of ballerinas. Holding the fan in his right hand behind his back, he swept his left hand out to the side, holding it outstretched.

Oh god his muscles! For a man in his late thirties whose job involved a large amount of deskwork, he was remarkably fit. That first time Phryne had managed to rip his clothes off him – and there had been actual tears as their mutual frustration and arousal had demanded satisfaction - she had thought she had known what she was getting, especially after the preview she’d had at Queenscliff. She had been quite wrong. He’d plainly engaged in some sort of exercise regime since then, for his arm and leg muscles were even leaner and more toned; and his abs almost as taut as a washboard. His fingers, so strong yet so gentle as they swept a path down her body, around her thighs and deep inside her. She was coming quite undone just recalling it.

He swopped hands, springing his weight to his right foot as he did so. The hand swop was deliberately slower, allowing Phryne a glimpse of his wool covered backside.

She smiled in delight, raising her hand to her mouth to cover a full-bodied laugh. It was his scarf! His damned Abbotsford scarf! Oh, his mother had knitted that for him; she’d be appalled if she ever found out about this!

Bringing his arms back towards his body, Jack rotated himself to face his audience, the fans held to cover his body once more. He wasn’t quite sure why he was trying for modesty or coyness at this juncture, but he knew this was supposed to be all about the tease. Luckily, the song was quite short, a deliberate move on Jack’s part; he hadn’t been sure how long his nerve would hold out, and now it was coming to the end.

‘Arm-ography’ Jack had entitled this section, when he’d been plotting it out. It was a clumsy word, but he figured if anybody else found the jottings in his notebook, that they’d at least not know what he was up to. There was a crescendo of fan-waving, arms stretching and recoiling as he moved to his final position, which was nearer to the fire in the hope that it might cast a favourable glow from behind.

Striking his pose as the music hit its last note he swept the fans to the sides, displaying his virtually naked body for Phryne to admire. Her performance had been leaps and bounds ahead of his in terms of quality, but he was hoping that his willingness to have done this at all would allow her to see past his less than fluid movements and very basic choreography.

Apparently, Phryne mused, he’d noted her final stance precisely when she’d performed at the Imperial Club; certainly Jack was recreating it perfectly now. There were differences of course; she’d had nipple covers, and her knickers had been decorated with feathers, which hid the top seam of her tights. Jack had opted to replace her neck decoration with a simple bowtie. It was an enlightened substitution, showcasing his collar bones to dazzling effect. He had wrapped his footie scarf tightly around his hips, forming an imitation of a loin cloth.

Phryne levered herself from the chair and moved over to stand in front of Jack.

“I thought you speculated that feathers wouldn’t work for you.” she said, batting her eyelashes.

“Indeed. I felt wool to be a much more, me, proposition.”

Phryne reached her hands out, moving as if to sweep her hands across his chest.

“Ah, ah, ah Miss. No touching the merchandise.” Jack smiled, knowing she would refuse to back down.

“Well perhaps… I’m sorry, I don’t know your performing name…”

“I’m sure a lady such as yourself could deduce such a thing...” Jack said, throwing caution to the wind as he threw himself into his role.

“Oh! Perhaps the hostess said that it was… Archie?”

Jack gave a very slight head tilt that said she had deduced correctly.

“Well Archie, I just stumbled into this, club, on a work-related matter…”

Jack tried not to snort.

“…and I can see from the club register that there’s an awfully large number of ladies who frequent these rooms on a regular basis, all with surprisingly similar names.”

“Yes, we get a lot of Ferns, for example…”

“How coincidental, that’s my name…”

“Shocking…”

“Shocking indeed. But I had heard that certain of the gentlemen performers here might be minded to permit… liberties… under certain circumstances.”

Jack cleared his throat, “Circumstances, Fern?”

“Such as, helping a Lady Detective with her enquiries?”

“Well obviously I’m a fine, upstanding citizen, Fern…”

Jack was interrupted by Phryne taking _that_ as an invitation to run her hand underneath his scarf and tease him. He was already hard, and he knew he had been becoming so for some moments, since she had stalked across the floor towards him.

“Upstanding indeed, Archie.” She concurred as she ran her hand from his cock to tickle his balls before sweeping her fingers across his thigh and working her flat hand up between his scarf and his hips.

And really, it was the way she elongated the second syllable of his assumed name that did him in. Jack moaned, closing the fans behind Phryne’s back, encouraging her towards him. Ducking his head he kissed her, his lips meeting hers in a frenzy. Phryne wrapped her other arm around his neck, splaying her fingers wide across those remarkable shoulder blades.

Phryne could feel the fans fluttering against her back. He was trying to hold them steady, but she could sense the shaking of his arm muscles straining to maintain the stance as they continued to kiss. Well, she determined, she didn’t want him to expend all his reserves of stamina this early in proceedings. Reluctantly, she broke the kiss.

“And the nature of your enquiries?” Jack asked, the words becoming difficult to speak.

“Well, there’s been talk of an Ostrich situation…”

“Ostrich?”

“Yes. So I’m afraid I’ll have to take these…” she reached out and plucked the fans from his hands, collapsing them down and quickly turning to cast them towards the armchair, “… back to my offices for investigation.”

“That is a shame. How will I manage my next performance, Fern?”

“Ah, I’m afraid, Archie, that you’ll be answering some questions related to the main _thrust_ of my investigation.” She took the opportunity then to palm him once more, this time through the wool. Her other hand was still entangled at his hip, giving her a strong grip on him.

“And the main, _thrust_ , is?” Jack decided that Archie would give as good as he got and tilted his hips, pushing his cock towards her exploring hand. Archie had certainly flirted with her quite effectively previously, on that occasion of his undercover work at 3JH.

“Oohh. The main thrust, Archie, revolves around wool rustling.”

“Wool rustling. Do tell me more…”

“Terrible thing. There’s lots and lots and lots of, wool, going missing, and the scoundrels responsible seem to be swapping it all for wood!”

“Wood?” Jack felt a light breeze around his cock as Phryne whipped his scarf away and tossed it behind her.

She glanced down, palmed his cock once more, swept her palm down, around and back up his impressive length and smirked. “Yes, wood. I can see a particularly, fine example here.”

“Phryne…” Jack lost all ability to maintain the charade as she pumped her fingers. She knew he liked that, and this was therefore not playing fair.

“Jack” Phryne said, with a sparkle in her eyes.

Somehow, Jack had not quite factored in the possibility that she might be so taken with his performance that she’d just want to have him in the middle of his lounge. He supposed after what they’d done on his card table he should have expected this development. Briefly he contemplated what lingerie she might be wearing, as his hands went onto autopilot and pulled her dress up and over her head. Ah good, tap pants. Always easier for him to tackle. Quickly grappling with the fastenings on her camisole he succeeded in releasing it and casting that over to the small pile forming on his chair.

Taking her hand and removing it from where it was threatening to undo him, Jack sank to his knees, grateful that his rug extended across most of the floor. Kissing his way around Phryne’s belly button, he made quick work of her stays, deftly sliding her stockings down her leg before sending them too towards the chair. Her knickers followed seconds later, leaving her as naked as he was. Well, except for his bowtie.

Jack found himself, as he so often had over the last few months, eye-level with the small thatch of hair that covered her most intimate area. Wrapping his left arm around her lower back, with his right hand he teased her legs wider, and guided her right leg over his left shoulder, kissing his way up her inner thigh as he moved his mouth higher. Teasing her lips open he swirled his tongue around her clitoris, suckling gently. Allowing her juices to coat his fingers, he slipped them into her, tightening his grip on her back to support her. It was the grip of her fingers on the nape of his neck that clued him into her approaching climax. This was not the first time he had been on his knees worshipping her like this, and he had noted that this angle seemed to make her come very quickly indeed. Perhaps it was something to do with gravity, he wondered idly as he changed the angle of his jaw and scissored his fingers open. It was the final nudge she needed and Phryne came, collapsing over him as she lost the ability to hold herself up. Definitely something to do with gravity, Jack decided.

Holding her still, Jack adjusted his own position, sliding his hand down from Phryne’s back as he sank lower to the ground. He kissed her calf as he moved her leg from his shoulder and encouraged her to the floor with him. He leant back on his right hand, his upper body sloping gently, held away from the floor. He knew Phryne liked straddling him, and that she liked to be able to run her hands around his shoulders and back.

As Phryne came back to herself enough to deduce where Jack’s lead was taking them next, she sank to her knees and positioned her thighs outside Jack’s.

“Diaphragm?” he asked, a momentary burst of his usual concern and responsibility breaking through the fog of their mutual lust.

“Always.” Phryne replied, leaning forward to kiss him. Lovely man; he always asked, he never just assumed, even on nights like tonight, when the eventual end to their evening must surely not have been in doubt?

They were still kissing as she lowered herself onto his now fully erect cock. He dug the pads of his fingers into her hips as she positioned herself; it was always so exquisite, feeling her surround him like this. He rotated his hand slightly, anchoring her to him more securely. He rotated his hips in small circles, just enough to be able to feel her reacting to the movement. Phryne’s head fell back as her neck appeared to grow longer.

“Phryne, look at me,” he urged, a tone of desperation in his voice.

Phryne forced her neck muscles to move, tipping her head forwards again to meet Jack’s gaze. His irises were so enlarged that they appeared to have influenced the shade of his pupils, which had darkened considerably.

They both maintained the eye contact as Jack continued to move. Phryne, who was never one to let any man entirely have his own way in any circumstance, added her own movement in, clenching her inner muscles around Jack’s cock as he moved within her. They held each other’s gaze as they continued their movements, the bumping of the needle as it reached the end of the record failing to distract them from their enjoyment of each other.

As his movements became more erratic, Jack realised he was rapidly approaching his own climax. He slid his left hand from Phryne’s hip, down between them, and pressed the pad of his thumb to her clitoris. He pushed further, brushing the edge of his own cock, which was rock hard and pulsing. He was very close. His thumb sufficiently dampened he retreated back to her clitoris, circling tenderly. Too much now and she’d go too far too fast. Just enough and she’d be experiencing what he liked to think of as ‘after- shocks’ for the following half an hour at least.  It was all about exerting just the right amount of pressure, at just the right time. He noticed her breathing suddenly change, to become much more ragged. He brushed his fingers through her pubic hair as his thumb stroked her clit. He came, the intensity forcing his eyes closed. He felt therefore, more than saw, the moment when Phryne’s next climax rippled through her. She ground down on his cock, and they both groaned.

Jack’s hand collapsed under him, sending him tumbling to the ground. Surprised by the sudden movement Phryne collapsed on top of him. Phryne giggled first, a small titter of a laugh that quickly built to become a full body roar. Jack smiled, a full smile that crinkled his brow, and then he was laughing too.

Sweeping his left hand up her back, he rubbed her shoulders gently as she lay on his chest. She squirmed, and made a little purring sound, before her body pulsated slightly and she emitted an ‘oh’ of pleasure. Jack smiled, and blew into her ear, causing her to squirm some more.

“Not playing fair, Jack.”

“You started the not playing fair, Phryne.”

“How do come to that conclusion?”

“When you did your fan dance, you were on the other side of the room, a barrier of several dozen people and an immense amount of regard for propriety between us. I didn’t break the rules about touching…”

“You placed your mouth around my breast Jack. I’m fairly sure any lingering nod to propriety at least began to die that night.”

“You pulled me to your breast; my mouth happened to be open in shock.”

“You keep on telling yourself that Jack.” She pushed herself up, placing her left hand on the floor beside his right. “Don’t tell me you’ve been planning this since then?”

“No. For the last few weeks, maybe.”

“And anyway Jack, if you will give a girl an entirely private performance, and in your own, very private lounge, then you have to expect me to break the rules.”

“I’d never expect any less from you, Phryne.”

She shuddered again. Jack propped his arm under his neck to raise himself up slightly.

“I missed you.”

“Don’t get sentimental Miss Fisher…”

“It only confuses you?” Phryne kissed him, gently, still fuzzy from her climaxes. A small ripple passed through her again as she stretched her back. “Well then, I suggest we examine this… club… for any other evidence. To the boudoir, Archie!”

“As you wish, Fern!”

They found nothing but cotton in the bedroom…

 

 


End file.
